


Cassarric Prompts and Drabbles

by enigmaticagentscully



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, multiple AUs, probably every character appearing at some point to be honest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:42:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticagentscully/pseuds/enigmaticagentscully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I kind of wanted a place to put all my random mini fics and such for Cass/Varric, so this is it!</p>
<p>It's basically a place for me to have some shameless fun writing and dumping random ideas that don't fit anywhere else. Each chapter is a fic of it's own , varying in length and not necessarily part of the same canon (in fact almost certainly not). The only thing they have in common is that they are all Cassarric shippiness and they all have the same Inquisitor - my crotchety little old lady dwarf Etta Cadash, lifelong criminal matriarch and general badass. This is just because I need a Quizzy and she's the easiest for me to write.</p>
<p>If you want to send me a prompt (which I may or may not do depending on how inspired I am) feel free to do so in the comments! Or through my Tumblr, which is 'enigmaticagentalice'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Desert Fashion

“You’re ogling me Seeker.”

“I most certainly am not!” said Cassandra, horrified.

Sera giggled. “She _was!_ She’s gone all red.”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Cassandra. “I just...why aren’t you wearing any _sleeves_ , Varric?”

Varric shrugged, a gesture which – Cassandra couldn’t help but notice – only drew attention to his bare arms and shoulders. His strong, firmly muscled arms and shoulders which she had _not_ been ogling.

“Easier to move,” he said. He waved his arm expansively at the vast desert stretching out before them. “Plus, it’s hot out here.”

“Getting hotter,” sniggered Sera. “How’d you get so ripped anyway Varric?”

“Paperwork,” said Varric. “The Merchants’ Guild produces a ton of the stuff. All those hours holding a quill add up.” He grinned suddenly. “Although if I’d known the effect it would have on certain members of the party, I would have covered up and spared the Seeker’s blushes.”

“Shut up dwarf,” growled Cassandra.

Varric smirked but did as he was told. Sera however, never one to leave a promising topic, said: “Anyway, you’re one to talk, shorty. I’ve seen you ogling Cassandra in the training ring when she’s all...y’know, sweaty and breathless.”

“Sounds like you’re the one ogling there, Buttercup,” said Varric. “Anyway, there’s a difference between ogling and keeping a wary eye on someone in case they decide to murder you.”

“Yep,” said Sera. “There _is_.”

“Sodding ancestors!” cried the Inquisitor, stopping suddenly and spinning around to face her companions, arms crossed. “Will you all please stop chatting each other up and try to find this damn temple? This place is giving me a headache.”

Faced with the wrath of the tiny dwarven matriarch, the three of them made vague apologetic noises, and the Inquisitor nodded in a satisfied fashion before turning back to continue on their way. Sera looked a little sulky, Varric amused, and Cassandra decided to try and forget the ‘sweaty and breathless’ comment, lest she never train in public again.

“Oh and Varric,” said the Inquisitor over her shoulder. “Put a damn shirt on next time young man, or you’re going to give Cassandra a heart attack.”

Sera cackled with glee. Cassandra wondered whether anyone would believe her if she went back to Skyhold claiming the others had all died in a sudden and mysterious rockslide.


	2. Portrait of a Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cassandra with long hair

“...and all without knowing that she was hiding in the closet the entire time, and had heard everything!”

Varric joined Josephine in her laughter. “You know it’s almost cruel to tell me these things Ruffles,” he chuckled. “I could write it all down and no-one would ever believe me.”

“I wouldn’t have told you if I had thought differently,” smiled Josephine. “But that was one of the least terrible stories I have heard about the Chevalier, believe me.”

Josephine had asked Varric into her office this afternoon to talk about trading lyrium with the Merchants’ Guild, but both of them knew any meeting they had usually ended up like this – trading gossip and tall tales over a cup of tea, a welcome break for both of them from endless paperwork. Though probably Josephine was rather more diligent than he was about keeping up with the stuff, thought Varric. He had become rather fond of the Ambassador, who was one of the few people in the Inquisition who considered beating someone senseless a final resort rather than the first choice.

Just as he was thinking this there was a firm knock on the door and Cassandra entered, with a wonderful unknowing sense of irony. She nodded curtly to acknowledge Varric’s presence and then looked questioningly at Josephine.

“You asked for me, Ambassador?” she said.

“Oh yes,” said Josephine, looking a little ruffled. “My apologies, I didn’t realise our meeting had overrun so.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows, clearly sceptical of the importance of any meeting that included tea and laughter, but didn’t comment.

“We had a message from your uncle in Nevarra,” said Josephine, as both she and Varric got up from their chairs and Cassandra walked over to her desk. “He said...ah, it’s not important. Business, not personal. Alliances in your homeland are difficult with the current...well, I won’t bore you with the details. But along with the messenger, he sent some items for you.” She gestured to a few large square packages on one end of the desk, wrapped in paper. “Well, for the Inquisition I suppose, but I thought you might want to look at them first.”

“Thank you.”

Cassandra started to unwrap the largest one immediately, and Varric turned to leave, but was stopped short when he heard Josephine gasp in surprise.

“Oh! How wonderful!”

His curiosity got the better of him and he wandered back over to the two women, who had just unwrapped...a painting. Cassandra sighed and propped it up against the wall. It was very large, in a very ornate frame, and depicted what appeared to be a woman fighting a whole lot of dragons. Light dawned.

“Hey, is that supposed to be you Seeker?” he asked.

 “Yes,” said Cassandra shortly. “My uncle had it commissioned shortly after...well, after it happened.”

The three of them studied the painting. Josephine raised her eyebrows. “It’s impressive.”

“It’s ridiculous,” said Cassandra. “Fanciful. Look at this – why on earth would anyone hold a shield out in _front_ of them when facing a beast twenty foot high? And I certainly didn’t have my hair loose.”

Varric sighed. “It’s a good thing you don’t write fiction, Seeker.”

Josephine was looking thoughtful. “You know, this would look rather fetching in the main hall,” she said. “A reminder of the great deeds the people of the Inquisition are capable of.”

“Absolutely not,” said Cassandra firmly. “The Inquisition is not about me, Ambassador.”

“It’s about all of us,” said Josephine vaguely. “This is surely what your uncle intended...oh, I wonder if I could find more of this sort of thing? Madame Vivienne has a rather lovely portrait of herself I know...I wonder if I could persuade her to part with it...”

“Ambassador...”

“You know,” said Josephine, barrelling on with what Varric considered quite impressive breeziness given how threatening Cassandra’s eyebrows were looking, “I’m sure I could have some paintings commissioned of the Inquisitor’s great deeds too.”

“She told me she once broke both of a guy’s legs with one blow because he was cheating her cartel,” Varric said helpfully. Luckily Ruffles didn’t seem to be listening.

“Yes...a gallery of some kind...not ostentatious, but somewhere the visiting nobles would be sure to see...”

And without a second glance at either of them, she hurried out, muttering under her breath. Varric turned to Cassandra.

“Hide it now,” he grinned. “It’s your only chance.”

Cassandra sighed and turned back to the other, smaller parcel on the desk and started to unwrap it. Varric lingered in front of the painting, wondering how many dragons there had _actually_ been that day, and if they had really been so big. The one he had faced with Hawke all those years ago had damn near killed them all. Were there really people who considered hunting these things a _sport?_

His reverie was broken by a rustling of paper and a disgusted noise from Cassandra. “Ugh. I didn’t think I’d ever have to see this again.”

“What is it?”

She turned, clearly a little surprised at finding him still there. “A portrait,” she said, handing it over to his outstretched hand with some reluctance. “Of me. It goes with the other painting I suppose; they were commissioned at the same time. I’d forgotten.”

Varric examined it with interest. This canvas was smaller, less than a couple of feet across. The artist had a good eye; it was unmistakably Cassandra looking back at him, though clearly much younger, her hand resting casually on a dragon’s skull. He had caught her sharp cheekbones and the stubborn set to her jaw, as well as the expression of grim determination – though whether he had intended it to be so or if Cassandra had just been very bored sitting for a portrait was anyone’s guess. The scar on her face was absent of course, but that was to be expected since it was a fairly recent wound and Varric could easily still envision her without it. What gave him pause was her _hair._ The small figure in the other painting hadn’t done it justice. Instead of the practical short crop he was used to, the young woman in the picture had glossy waves of raven hair that framed her blazing eyes and tumbled over her shoulders, dark against the bright steel of her armour. It was certainly...striking.

“Varric. Are you even listening?”

He looked up in surprise. “What? Oh no, I wasn’t.” That sounded rather rude even considering it was Cassandra, so he added: “Sorry. Got distracted.” He hadn’t realised she’d been talking to him, a rare enough occurrence at the best of times.

“By _that?_ ” said Cassandra suspiciously. “It’s really not that interesting, as paintings go.”

Varric shrugged and passed it back to her. “It’s weird to see you—” The words ‘so young’ were on the tip of his tongue when he realised what he was about to say and stopped himself just in time. “—with so much hair.”

Cassandra snorted. “For once we are in agreement. I cut it soon after the portrait was finished.” Her lips curved in a faint smile. “Regalyan said that—” She broke off suddenly, and turned her back to him to lay the portrait down on the desk, clearly uncomfortable. Varric wondered who Regalyan was.

“Ever think about growing it out again?” he asked, in an attempt to keep the conversation light.

She turned back to him, composure back in place. “Have you ever thought about growing a beard?” she said pointedly. “Most dwarves have them.”

“Eh, more trouble than they’re worth,” said Varric, and to his surprise, Cassandra actually smiled. The second time in as many minutes – that had to be some kind of record.

“Indeed,” she said.

There was a brief awkward silence, fostered by the sudden unexpected fellow feeling between them. Varric cleared his throat.

“Well I’ll leave you to it, Seeker,” he said. “Good luck convincing Ruffles out of her decorating spree. If she gets the Iron lady on her side she’ll be unstoppable.”

He headed towards the door, feeling pleased, if slightly wrong footed. He had managed what was actually a fair approximation of a civil conversation with Cassandra. Now that was an event worthy of a painting in Josephine’s gallery, he thought wryly.

“Varric,” Cassandra called suddenly, and he paused halfway through the door, glancing over his shoulder questioningly. She was looking uncharacteristically hesitant.

“I’d appreciate it if you...didn’t tell Josephine about this painting,” she said. “It’s bad enough that she plans to display the other.”

Varric grinned. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He never did find out what she did with that portrait, but it struck him later that the short conversation in Josephine’s office was the first time he had really thought of the Seeker as a person, rather than just an antagonistic force. Strange to imagine Cassandra as a young woman, inexperienced and uncertain, facing odds that would make a seasoned warrior turn and run. Not unlike Hawke when she first came to Kirkwall.

Varric had spent his life in the company of heroes, but sometimes it was more comforting to know that most of them were just in the wrong damn place at the worst possible time.


	3. A Lesson or Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw a list of AU ideas on Tumblr and one of them was 'teacher AU where all the students ship it' and somehow this happened.
> 
> Oh my god someone stop me.

“Ok then...Mr Tethras and Ms Pentaghast.”

“Oh come on. They can’t stand each other.”

“Ha, that’s just what they _want_ you to think. It’s called _chemistry_ , my friend.”

“You didn’t hear them arguing the other day. We were doing a test in Physics and you could hear them right through the staffroom wall. Mr Pavus had to go and tell them to shut up.”

“What were they arguing about?”

“I dunno. She was looking for something I think, and he had hidden it...or he just knew where it was all along but didn’t tell her. I was trying to do my test, remember.”

“He _hid_ something from her? That’s kind of childish.”

“And your point is? Remember when he made us all write short stories about the other teachers with the names changed and then tried to guess who they were about?”

“You know I heard he nearly got fired for that? Alright, fair enough. But that just proves my point – he’s doing the teacher equivalent of pulling her pigtails. He’s trying to get her attention.”

“I think it worked. She looked like she was about to murder him. Nah, I don’t see it.”

“You’ll come around. I was right about Principal Vallen and Mr Hendyr, wasn’t I?

“A lucky guess.”

“We’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god, I thought you’d never get here!”

“Sorry, the line for lunch was really long. What was so important anyway?”

“Ok, so you know there was that rumour going around a while back that Mr Tethras publishes trashy romance novels under a pen name?”

“Yeah...”

“Well it’s true.”

“No way! Do you know what his pen name is?”

“No, but that doesn’t matter—”

“Of course it does! I want to read them!”

“Shhh, that’s not the important part, the important part is how I know. Are you ready for this? Ms Pentaghast is a _fan_.”

“ _Nooooooo_.”

“I shit you not. I went to the staffroom to hand in that stupid essay and Señorita Montilyet was talking with Mademoiselle...ah crap, I can’t remember her name. The new French teacher, y’know, with the red hair? Anyway they were gushing about this book that Ms Pentaghast had recommended and Mr Tethras walked in and said it was one of _his_.”

“Oh my god, do you think Ms Pentaghast _knows?_ ”

“Doubt it. But she’s bound to find out now, right?”

“She’s going to be _furious_.”

“I think she’ll be more embarrassed. From what I overheard it was pretty smutty stuff. But hey, they’ve got something in common right? Didn’t expect that, did you? I told you they had chemistry.”

“Oh shit, speaking of chemistry, we’re going to be late for that lunch tutorial thing, and Dr. le Fer said she’d put me in detention if I missed another one.”

“Ok, but this isn’t over, you mark my words.”

 

* * *

 

“I come bearing news!”

“Argh, you come bearing rainwater! Look, you soaked my book!”

“Oh just stick it on the radiator, it’ll dry off. Anyway, stop flailing and listen, because I heard some _very_ interesting information yesterday.”

“By the look on your face I’m assuming this has something to do with your weird mission to prove that Mr Tethras and Ms Pentaghast have a thing?”

“I didn’t say they _have_ a thing, I’m saying they _should_ have...look, do you want to hear it or not?”

“Alright, I’ll indulge your nuttiness, go ahead.”

“Well apparently some of the teachers have a weekly poker game, right? Run by—”

“Mr Tethras? Yeah I knew that actually, I heard Mr Rutherford complaining about losing the other day.”

“You actually knew something that goes on around here? I’m shocked.”

“Not all of us are obsessed with ferreting out the secrets of the faculty, you weirdo.”

“All right, but I bet you didn’t know this – Ms Pentaghast recently joined and apparently she’s terrible at it so Mr Tethras has been giving her... _private lessons.”_

“Pfft, that only sounded significant because you said it like that. And waggled your eyebrows.”

“Oh come on, it’s significant because they used to hate each other and now they’re seeing each other one-on-one outside of work!”

“How do you even find out this stuff?”

“I have my sources.”

“It’s Sera, isn’t it?”

“Ok fine, I have one source, and its Sera. You’d be amazed the stuff you can pick up when your older sister is a teaching assistant. She hears all _sorts_ of things.”

“...such as?”

“Oh let me see...what could she have heard that might be important? Hmmm...how about: Mr Tethras writing a sequel to one of his worst selling books just because it was Ms Pentaghast’s favourite?”

“He _didn’t_.”

“He did.”

“Alright, I’ll admit _that_ is significant. Maybe he does like her after all. But I still don’t think she’d ever go for him. She’s out of his league.”

“You think? He’s pretty good looking.”

“I mean, she’s a stunningly gorgeous former Olympic champion and he’s just an English teacher who writes erotic fiction on the side.”

“...you do realise that sounded exactly like the blurb for every trashy romance story I’ve ever read, right?”

“And that explains a lot about you. But life doesn’t always imitate art. I think you’re being too optimistic.”

“Eh, it’s a start though.”

 

* * *

 

“He called her Cassandra.”

“I heard.”

“She _blushed._ Red as a beetroot.”

“I saw.”

“So no denial? No ‘you’re reading too much into things’? No boring mundane explanation for me?”

“You’re really insufferable when you’re this smug, you know that?”

“Yep.”

“Alright fine. It was kind of sweet actually. But I bet you a Coke that they both chicken out and it doesn’t come to anything.”

“You’re on.”

 

* * *

 

“I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I _told_ you. You owe me a Coke.”

“Fine, you were right and I was wrong. Satisfied?”

“Not as much as them!”

“...ew.”

“Hey, he sent her flowers. _Flowers._ You know what flowers in the morning means...”

“I’m not hearing this.”

“I thought she looked pretty tired in first period as well...”

“Ok, we seriously need to find you a new hobby.”

“Hey, I thought you thought it was sweet?”

“It was sweeter when you weren’t making me imagine them...uck.”

“Just telling it how it is. Hey, don’t teachers deserve love too?”

“Who says its love? It could just be...”

“Pure animal lust?”

“ _Ohmygodshutup.”_

“Nah you’ve seen the way he’s been looking at her recently. Definitely love. I’m never wrong about these things. Speaking of which, don’t you think Mr Rutherford has been hanging around that new supply teacher a lot recently?”

“Ok, you’re my friend, and I say this with all the love in the world, but...you really need to get a life.”


	4. The Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric finds Cassandra after the attack on Haven.

Varric hadn’t seen Cassandra in person since they had both been running from a blast of dragon fire in Haven several hours ago, so it actually came as something of a relief when he found her, which was a first for him. The Seeker was sitting on a large rocky outcrop at the top of a small slope, close enough to the clustered circle of tents that she was still visible in the dim torchlight, but far enough that the low babble of voices became background noise to the sound of the wind.

She was hunched over slightly against the cold, staring out at the dark mountains, and made no sign of recognising his approach. Varric hesitated. He had wandered up here to see who it was sitting alone in the snow, whether they needed help, and now he had found out he could hardly just turn around and walk right back.

“So...you found it too depressing down there too, huh?” he said, more to announce his presence than anything.

Cassandra didn’t turn around, but after a moment she said quietly: “Varric. You are uninjured?”

“Yeah, I got lucky,” he replied. “Plenty who didn’t though. Morale isn’t exactly high right now.” He had hoped to hint that maybe she should be getting back and doing something about that, but she didn’t move.

“They grieve for those lost,” she murmured. “And they grieve most for the Herald of Andraste. The woman sent by the Maker to save us in our hour of need.”

Though the words were ones Cassandra had often repeated, there was a terrible bitterness in her voice that Varric had never heard before. He was used to seeing the Seeker angry, but seeing her looking so weary and defeated was something new...and a special kind of horrible, it turned out. It was like seeing a dragon without wings; something fundamental had been stripped away. He was suddenly glad that he couldn’t see her face.

“What about you?” he said, trying to get back onto steadier ground. “Shouldn’t you be down there making plans and arguing like the others?”

“No. I haven’t the right.”

Varric frowned. “What are you talking ab—”

“I ran away.”

Oh. That was something he hadn’t expected. Varric by nature was someone who believed wholeheartedly in the merits of a swift tactical retreat, and had generally spent his life around those who felt the same way. Still, the idea of being ashamed to be alive when others were dead was...not a new concept. For the first time, he felt a genuine stab of sympathy towards the Seeker.

“Hey, none of us thought we’d be getting out of that alive,” he said, reasonably. “You can’t blame yourself for—”

“ _I ran away_. The great Cassandra Pentaghast, Hero of Orlais.” Cassandra’s voice was low and wretched. “I should have been the one to stand against that dragon. Instead I let an old woman face it alone.”

“Ah, you know she’d kick your ass if she heard you calling her that,” said Varric lightly.

“I know,” said Cassandra, but there was no trace of humour in her voice. “She didn’t even want to be known as the Herald. Thousands grieve for her, but most do not even know her real name. The world will mourn the Herald of Andraste when they hear of this, but how many will mourn Etta Cadash, I wonder? I...I did that to her.”

Guilt spiral it was then. Shattered though Varric felt after what had happened at Haven, he couldn’t very well leave one of the most important members of the Inquisition by herself to fall apart like this. Now more than ever they needed strong guiding voices of pragmatism, leaders they respected to keep them together. Cassandra was vital to the fate of these people huddled on the cold mountainside tonight. All very sound, practical concerns, and so Varric was satisfied in the knowledge that his decision not to head back to the tents had absolutely nothing to do with the heartbreaking crack in Cassandra’s voice as she had said Etta’s name.

He walked around and sat down on the rock beside her, at what he judged to be a respectful distance.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” he said, a part of him marvelling at the irony that he of all people should be saying those words to the Seeker.

“Isn’t it?” Cassandra was still looking out over the mountains, speaking as if to them rather than him. “This was my problem, my responsibility,” she said. “Etta was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was a _dwarf._ Maker, dwarves don’t even have mages! She had less of a stake in this foolish war than anyone, and still she...”

“She wanted to close the Breach,” said Varric. “And she did.” Small comfort, but it was all he could give right now.

“Yes,” said Cassandra. “She did. She served her purpose.”

Varric flinched. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But it’s true, is it not?” said Cassandra. “We needed her mark to close the Breach, and she has done so. Whatever we face now, whatever becomes of the Inquisition, the Herald of Andraste is no longer necessary. Perhaps this is what the Maker intended for her all along.”

“I don’t believe that,” replied Varric automatically.

Cassandra turned to look at him, her expression thoughtful in the flickering firelight.

“What _do_ you believe?” she said quietly. “Why are you still here, Varric?”

Varric shrugged, discomfited by the sudden intensity of her gaze. “I can leave if you want.”

“No, I didn’t mean...” To his relief, Cassandra turned back to look out over the snow again. “Not here now,” she said, her voice back to its usual tone of mild exasperation, which was at least an improvement over abject misery. “I mean with the Inquisition. You could have gone back to Kirkwall, I know you never wanted to leave. So why did you decide to stay?”

Varric considered for a moment, wondering how honest to be. Finally he said: “You know Seeker, our Herald once told me that she was terrified of the fate of the world being in her hands. That she felt like she was making shit up as she went along.” He smiled at the memory. “It was just after we got back from Redcliffe. She was pretty drunk at the time, I think. Wanted a friendly face to talk to, and I was the only one around who she could look in the eye without a stepladder. ‘How did two surfacer reprobates like us end up here?’ she said to me.”

Cassandra made a soft sound that might almost have been a chuckle, but didn’t interrupt.

“Her choice to conscript the mages wasn’t exactly a popular one with a lot of people,” Varric continued. “ _She_ didn’t even know if it was the right thing to do, and she thought...how could people trust her if she didn’t even trust herself?”

This time Cassandra did interrupt. “I had no idea she had such doubts,” she said, sounding troubled. “I know she didn’t believe she was the Herald of Andraste, but she...she always seemed so _sure_ in what she did.”

“Yeah well, that’s just it,” said Varric. “I told Etta that _you_ trusted her, and since you don’t trust anyone, that had to be a good sign.”

He paused, remembering the look the old lady had given him, the wry smile that had crossed her face. “She said: ‘I am not who Cassandra thinks I am. That’s something else we have in common, my lad.’”

There was a long silence.

“She was right,” said Cassandra, so quietly Varric hardly caught the words. “I was wrong about you. I was wrong about a lot of things.”

Was that...damn, that was very nearly an apology. This day just kept getting stranger. Varric shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, you weren’t the only one Seeker,” he said. Without quite knowing why, he reached out and touched her arm briefly, in a companionable gesture. She turned to look at him, and his breath caught in his throat. She suddenly seemed much closer than he had realised, and her expression was nothing he could describe.

“Varric, I...”

There was a sudden shout from a watchman the other side of camp, and they both jumped, twisting around to see what was happening. More shouting, and the tidal movement of people leaping to their feet fearfully, poking their heads out of tents.

“What the hell is going on now?” said Varric, to the world in general.

“The scouts saw someone coming through the snow over the mountain pass,” said Cassandra, who had sharper hearing than him. They had both gotten to their feet by now, and without another word they both started swiftly down the slope to the camp.

Only one person. Coming through the snow from the direction Haven had stood.

Varric glanced sideways at Cassandra as they hurried through the tents towards the source of the commotion. Her face gave nothing away, but he had heard the sudden hope in the Seeker’s voice. And she hadn’t yet drawn her sword.

_Maker, just this once, please let her be right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked the idea that Cassandra and Varric might reach some kind of détente post-Haven, especially since they both seem the type to take the loss of the Herald very hard. Cassandra for what she represented, Varric because he would have great sympathy for her as a person. And because an experience like that is really something that might makes you think about who your *real* enemies are.
> 
> I also always just kind of headcanoned that the two were becoming more amicable at that point, and that’s why Cassandra is SO furious when she finds out about Hawke. It’s a personal betrayal because she was genuinely starting to trust Varric.


	5. Bolt from the Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra muses on love, and crossbows. Random ficlet that popped into my head.

The sun was already setting as they made camp for the night, setting up in an old elven ruin that was nestled into a cliff face and surrounded by enough trees to at least partially conceal them. It was a good spot, and the Inquisitor was visibly pleased at having found it. She and Dorian were already discussing whether they should use their last raven to send a message back to the main camp at the edge of the forest and have some people come here to make a permanent base.

Cassandra would have joined in the conversation, but it had been a long day and she was weary of talk. Any party that included both Dorian and Varric could be rather trying at times in that regard. So instead she built up the fire; a task that was familiar enough to be relaxing but still took her concentration to get right. There was something primally satisfying in creating a fire, and once she was finished she sat back beside it close enough to feel the warmth, already more relaxed. Night had just about fallen and the flickering light cast a soft glow over the stone pillars of the temple and the small pile of supplies they had dumped in a heap on the floor. She could feel the heat gradually melting away the stiffness on her muscles that came from a day of walking on uneven ground and fighting far more giants than it seemed an area like this could possibly sustain.

It was a cause for concern, what the red templars might possibly want with giants. But Cassandra put it out of her mind for the time being, determined not to worry herself into another sleepless night.

Dorian and the Inquisitor were still deep in animated conversation as they started to unroll beds and look through supplies, though by the looks of it they had moved on from business and were now laughing together at some joke Dorian had told. Cassandra allowed herself a small smile as she watched them. An old dwarven matriarch from the Carta and the pampered son of a Tevinter Magister. Who would have thought they’d become such firm friends? The Maker had certainly thrown together an odd group of people in recent times.

Of course, such unexpected alliances did not _always_ work out.

Varric had sat cross legged on the other side of the fire, checking over Bianca as he always did after a day in the field. Cassandra watched with a vague disapproval. Having recently met the real Bianca she understood a little better the significance Varric’s crossbow had to him, and it was certainly an impressive piece, but she wasn’t sure just how much he conflated it with the woman who had betrayed him.

Well, perhaps _betrayed_ was too strong a word. Truly, Bianca Davri’s only crime was foolishness, and concealment of the truth afterwards. Perhaps it was no wonder Varric forgave her so easily, thought Cassandra sourly.

Actually, seeing the woman behind Varric’s crossbow had rather unsettled her. Cassandra had always assumed that the ever unexplained ‘Bianca’ was just another one of Varric’s tales; a way of making himself seem more mysterious and interesting.

_There was a girl, and I made a promise. Bianca is the only story I can never tell._

Strange, to think that she now knew something about Varric that he had never even shared with some of his closest friends. Although...the thought now occurred to Cassandra that his friends in Kirkwall could very well know about Bianca, could even have met her, and Varric had simply left it out of his story when she had interrogated him because he didn’t want _her_ to know.

Cassandra _had_ been curious at the time, of course she had. But it hadn’t been relevant to her goal, and she wouldn’t give the dwarf the satisfaction of asking. Now she knew anyway, at least enough to get the gist of what Bianca was to him.

Cassandra wondered what it was like, to love someone for that long even knowing that they would never be yours. To stay true to them even as years went by without meeting, to forgive them no matter what pain they caused you. It wasn’t something she would have thought Varric capable of.

“Almost obscene, isn’t it?” said Dorian’s voice near her ear. Cassandra jumped slightly, feeling an irrational flush of guilt at having been caught lost in speculation on someone else’s personal life.

“What are you talking about?” she said, a little more sharply than she had intended.

“The way Varric fondles that crossbow,” smirked Dorian, sitting down next to her. “ _Oh_ so many jokes I could make, but sadly I fear he’d have a reply prepared for every single one. Shame.”

“I’m sure he’s heard it all before from Hawke,” said Cassandra. “Besides, someone with no sense of shame whatsoever is almost impossible to make fun of, I find.”

Dorian chuckled. “Oh I don’t know about that,” he said. “I’m sure I can find something.”

“I can hear you, you know,” said Varric, without looking up. “If you’re going to plot against me Sparkler, you could at least do it out of earshot.”

“Oh dear, you’re not going to mention the famous terrible human senses, are you?” said Dorian. “First Solas, then Bull, now you too. I swear I can’t even have a pleasant conversation with our Inquisitor without hearing about how she can see fifty foot further than I can in the dark, and probably smell what I had for breakfast too, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Believe it or not, I can hear in the dark too!” came the voice of the Inquisitor from over by the supplies. “Come and make yourself useful and help me with this tent, young man. Leave the grown-ups be.”

“Yes maam,” drawled Dorian, and he got up again and wandered off towards her.

Cassandra, grateful at being spared another exchange of cheerful bickering from Dorian and Varric but not quite sure how she felt about being referred to as one of the ‘grown-ups’, went back to idly watching the dwarf, who now appeared to be disassembling his crossbow.

It was...oddly unpleasant to witness, as he removed the limbs and then started stripping down the metal parts from the barrel, occasionally unscrewing something with miniscule tools produced from a small roll in his coat pocket. His deft fingers took her apart in a few minutes, until she was lying in pieces, neat rows of wood and metal laid out on a cloth before him. Cassandra watched with a kind of horrified fascination. It had gone so quickly from being a familiar object to just...parts. It was like seeing someone undergoing surgery.

“Seeker, can I ask why you keep staring at Bianca?” said Varric, suddenly. He looked up at her with a grin, polishing a bit of metal idly with a rag as he spoke. “Why, you’ll start to make me jealous if you keep it up.”

Cassandra fumbled for the right words. “I didn’t realise you could take her—” _Damn!_ “—it apart like that.”

Varric shrugged. “Sure. There’s a lot of small internal parts that need to keep moving, so I take her apart every now and then to make sure everything’s clean and working right. Wood hasn’t split, metal hasn’t rusted, and springs are still sprung. Just like you keeping your sword sharp, I suppose.”

“But rather more complicated, I suspect,” said Cassandra.

“Careful Seeker, that was very nearly a compliment,” said Varric. “You’re not wrong though.” He picked up a very small metal shape from the cloth and slotted it neatly into something else. There was an almost imperceptible sound as something connected. “If someone who didn’t know what they were doing tried this, they wouldn’t get very far. Of course, they’d have to have pried her from my corpse first, so I guess I wouldn’t be in a position to judge either way.”

Cassandra frowned slightly at that. She had never been particularly happy with the way he and some of the others joked about such things, as if they were so certain it would never really happen. The worst part was that it was probably true – there was no way Varric would willingly relinquish his crossbow to anyone while he still drew breath. He barely let anyone else touch it. He called it ‘sweetheart’ sometimes. The memory wandered into her mind for no particular reason.

Varric started humming softly under his breath as he started to put his crossbow back together. If was fascinating to watch, in a way, the way the parts fitted together, metal and wood and springs and some parts that must have been Elven ironbark. He worked quickly, hardly seeming to pay much attention as he took each new part and fitted it to the whole. Cassandra was willing to bet that he could do it blindfolded, and probably had. If Bianca Davri truly was the maker of the bow, she must have spent some considerable time making sure Varric was familiar enough with her creation that he knew every part so intimately.

She wondered if Varric called the real Bianca _sweetheart_ too. If he looked at her with the same tenderness. If he ran his hands over her in the same way that he...

There was a loud _click_ , and the sound of a crossbow ratcheting back into place.

Varric sat back, apparently finished. “There, see?” He patted the crossbow affectionately. “She can be broken down into pieces and as long as I’m here to put her back together, she’s good as new.”

_Lucky her_ , thought Cassandra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This mayyyyy have a part two at some point. Maybe. I have some thoughts on that.


	6. Bolt from the Blue (Part 2)

Venatori were one thing. A high dragon was another. Both at the same time was...a challenge.

Whether or not the dragon had actually been a strategy on the Venatori’s part or just sheer bad luck for everyone concerned, Cassandra wasn’t sure. But the battle was rapidly turning into chaos. Dorian and the Inquisitor were swarmed by the red robed mages, the zip and sizzle of magic flying through the air of the cliff-side clearing, Etta’s shouts just audible above the clash of steel and the roaring of the enraged dragon. Not caring who was on what side, the beast stormed through friend and foe alike, lashing out with its claws and sending great billows of icy breath at anyone who came close. Fighting such a single large creature in close quarters required an entirely different kind of tactics then fighting a group of smaller enemies, and they were all suffering in the confusion.

With the others engaged with the Venatori, Cassandra had been left by default to deal with the dragon. She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered at the Inquisitor’s apparent confidence that she could handle it, but right now she didn’t have time to consider such things.

She darted underneath the dragon’s vast bulk, hacking at its thick hide with her sword wherever she got a chance, and by some stroke of the Maker’s favour, as it turned to snap at a nearby Venatori bodyguard, its foreleg came down just ahead of her. A sweep of her sword cut through its hamstring, spraying hot blood across the ground and over her own face.  As she reached up instinctively to wipe the stuff out of her eyes, the dragon let out a bellowing roar of pain and took off, vast wings beating down the air and knocking Cassandra to the ground. She was able to roll with the fall, and heard cries and curses from around her that told her she wasn’t the only one caught off guard by the dragon’s sudden flight.

Scrambling to her feet, she saw Varric for the first time since this mess had begun, dashing for his crossbow which must have been knocked out of his hands and lay on the ground some twenty yards away. Instincts kicking in, Cassandra seized her shield from where it had fallen and ran to cover him while he was defenceless. She was only a few feet away when the dragon made another pass, wings beating the air furiously, raw magic thrown at it from all directions. Even the remaining Venatori had recognised the greater threat and were focusing on taking the beast down first, but to no avail. The beating of its wings were creating a kind of vortex, sucking in the air and sending them all spinning across the ground, crying out frantically. What had become of the Inquisitor or Dorian Cassandra couldn’t see, but she heard Varric swear as his crossbow was dragged further from his grasp and skidded towards the edge of the cliff, and saw him scramble after it in a kind of low crouching run.

All this went past in a flash as she was dragged helplessly across the ground by the merciless gale, her own sword clattering away in the vortex, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the rocky earth.

She barely had a moment to pray that Varric and the others would not be swept over the edge of the cliff, when she went over herself.

Cassandra hadn’t realised it had been so close. There was a confusion of images and sound, a roaring in her ears, rocks crumbling around her, the air sucked out of her lungs in shock, fingers gripping her arm, nearly wrenching it out of its socket, a sensation of terrible gaping _space..._

And then she was lying on the hard stony earth, gloriously solid beneath her, every muscle in her body burning and her breath coming in quick frantic gasps. The edge of the cliff was a few feet away and she had to fight the urge to crawl further away from it. Adrenaline pounded through her blood and she was...alive. She was alive. The clearing was quiet, the battle must be over, and a good thing too, as right now Cassandra was so stunned as to be useless. Images from the last few minutes flashed through her mind. What had just happened couldn’t possibly have...surely she must have been mistaken. The frantic panic of the moment had...

Varric swore quietly beside her, sitting upright carefully and rubbing his arm.

“You need to get some lighter armour Seeker,” he muttered. “I swear you nearly broke my arm.”

Cassandra stared at him. “You saved my life,” she gasped, voice still slightly hoarse and breathless.

“Yeah?” Varric frowned slightly, clearly not quite understanding. They had all probably saved each other countless times in the heat of battle, after all. “I’d noticed, actually. You make it pretty hard work, sometimes.”

“Bianca...” said Cassandra.

Varric grimaced. “She went over,” he said. “Probably at the bottom of the cliff by now.”

“I know. I...I saw. But you...you still...”

Light finally dawned in Varric’s eyes. “Wait...you’re _surprised_ that I...Andraste’s ass Seeker, you didn’t really think I’d let you die to save my _crossbow?_ ”

Cassandra’s breath had returned, but now she could think of absolutely nothing to say. Varric just stared at her as though he had never seen her before.

“HEY! You two still alive over there?” The Inquisitor’s voice cut through the air, making them both jump. She was jogging over to them with Dorian in tow, both looking rather the worse for wear. Cassandra and Varric both scrambled to their feet as the pair approached.

Etta looked wide-eyed at Cassandra. “Maker’s balls, you’re covered in blood!”

“It is not mine,” said Cassandra, doing her best to wipe her face clean.

Etta relaxed. “Sneaky bastards, trying to get the dragon to do their work for ‘em,” she said more cheerfully, gesturing to the crumpled heaps of red robes that now littered the ground around the vast bulk of the dragon.

“It didn’t seem to be the world’s best thought out plan,” said Dorian, who was sporting a nasty bruise on his temple and looked distinctly annoyed.  “I can’t imagine how they thought they’d survive it.”

“Probably didn’t,” said Etta. “Cultists.” She rolled her eyes. “They’re always so eager to die for the cause. Still, suits me fine. At least it means we have the same goal in mind.” She hefted her axe onto her back and strapped it securely behind her with swift practised motions. “What say we call it a success and head back to camp early, eh? One dragon per day is about my limit.”

She looked from Cassandra to Varric and back again, frowning slightly. “Is something wrong?” she said. “Neither of you are injured, right?”

Varric sighed. “We’re fine,” he said. “But...we might have to make a small detour on the way back to camp, if you don’t mind.”

The trip to the bottom of the cliff was a long one. They had to go around for a couple of miles to find a shallow enough slope to climb down, and even then it was a twenty minute scramble down slippery scree, stumbling over bushes and hanging onto rocks for support. Even once down progress was frustratingly slow, the clear cut paths and grassy clearings of the forest above given way to tangles of close growing trees and sudden drops that forced them to constantly make detours just to find a way through. They were all exhausted, made worse by the knowledge that they would have to find their way back later, but no-one complained.

Etta and Dorian made some desultory conversation now and again, between hacking through vegetation. Varric seemed lost in thought, and it took Cassandra a long time to steel herself to speak to him. They were a little way behind the other two by that point, so Cassandra reassured herself that at least she wouldn’t have an audience for what was sure to be an uncomfortable exchange.

She cleared her throat, unsure of how to begin. “Varric, I wanted to ah...to thank you for...”

“Save it Seeker,” said Varric curtly, shoving a branch aside with unnecessary force. “You’d have done the same for me.”

“Of course. That doesn’t mean I’m not grateful.”

“I didn’t do it to earn your gratitude,” said Varric.

Cassandra frowned. He was clearly not happy with her, even more so than usual. “Are you angry that I’m grateful for my life?” she asked.

Varric snorted. “No. Being happy to be alive is fine. But you’re not just grateful. You’re _surprised_.”

“Oh.” Was he really annoyed about that? “I didn’t intend to offend you. I just didn’t expect that you would let your crossbow go so easily. I’m aware that you don’t believe I understand such things, but I know Bianca isn’t just another tool. She...it is important to you.”

“And you’re not important at all to anyone, is what you’re saying?”

Well that came out of nowhere. Cassandra hesitated. “No of course not, I simply thought...”

“That I was such an asshole I’d let another person die to save a possession of my own.”

“No!” Cassandra couldn’t work out where her thanking him had gone so wrong, but the conversation was rapidly devolving into another argument. “I...not another person, just...well... _me_.”

“Yeah well, maybe your mistake there was thinking you know me at all, because clearly you don’t.”

 She had never heard Varric so angry, without even an edge of humour to his tone. He was often annoyed at her – they had rubbed each other the wrong way from the start – but now he sounded...hurt. She realised it with an unpleasant jolt. Maker’s breath, she had actually hurt his feelings.

 “You’re right,” she said quietly. “I clearly don’t. I am sorry. Truly.”

Varric glanced at her sharply, and she realised that now _he_ was the one caught off guard. Perhaps she had never openly apologised to him before. Perhaps he hadn’t thought her capable of it. Cassandra felt an absurd flicker of triumph that Varric was as guilty of misjudging her as she was of him, but it wasn’t really a pleasant victory when she thought about it. It probably explained a lot about them.

After that they walked in silence. It was often easier that way.

As they approached the place where Bianca had fallen the cliff grew ever steeper and higher, a towering wall of rock rising on their left side. But the forest itself thinned a little at least, trees giving way to wide patches of scrub and rubble, dotted with huge boulders that must have come loose from the crumbling cliff side. Dorian muttered a few words under his breath and a bright blue light flared briefly high on the cliff top above them, from a spell he had set as they left their earlier battleground. He nodded briefly and by unspoken agreement the party started to spread out a little, eyes raking over the debris.

Cassandra couldn’t help but throw glances at Varric every now and again as they searched. She couldn’t tell if he was still angry, or had forgotten their argument in the light of the more important issue. Still, though saving her life may have meant little to him, Cassandra found she couldn’t so easily detach herself from the consequences of his action. Seeing the tiny blue light flare at the top of the cliff that reared so impossibly high above them had made her feel slightly queasy. A strange thing; she had faced death many times after all, and fates far worse than this would have been. Perhaps she was simply tired.

“I found it!” cried Etta suddenly, the sound breaking into Cassandra’s thoughts from a little way off. “Over here!”

“And over here,” said Dorian, and Cassandra could almost hear the wince in his voice. “And a bit over there too, I’m afraid.”

Cassandra risked another sidelong glance at Varric, who looked grim for a moment.

“Alright,” he said. “Just...get everything you can find, okay?”

They spread out further and searched through the rubble and clusters of thorny bushes, depositing anything they found onto the cloth that Varric laid out onto the ground. The wooden crosspieces of the bow had snapped off and splintered, the barrel appeared to have burst on impact, strewing delicate pieces across the landscape. Dorian found the metal sight bent out of recognition and lodged halfway up a tree, and was so pleased with the discovery that he threw himself into the search with renewed enthusiasm, perhaps trying to prove that his only-human eyesight was just as good as anyone else’s.

“Well,” said Etta finally, staring down at the cloth. “I don’t know shit about crossbows, Varric, but I think we’ve got all the pieces at least. What’s the verdict?”

“Bianca’s made of sturdy stuff,” said Varric. “Given a little help and a lot of time, I’ll be able to fix her.”

“And if you can’t?”

Varric shrugged, trying and failing to look indifferent. “Then I can’t. She had a good run.”

Cassandra looked at the split chunk of wood in her hand, and tried to picture Varric without his crossbow. It was like trying to picture him without a head.

“Varric...” she began, not quite knowing what she meant to say, and only able to think of one thing. “I...I’m sorry.”

Varric gave her a very odd look. “Seeker...” He sighed deeply. “You know, you have a really weird habit of trying to blame everything that goes wrong in the world either on _me_ , or on yourself.” To her surprise, he laid a hand briefly on her arm. It was a gentle, almost friendly gesture. “It’s not your fault, or anyone else’s. Sometimes shit just happens. Forget about it, okay?”

He walked away to meet Dorian, who was scrambling down the bank waving another piece of bent metal triumphantly in his hand.

Cassandra stared at his retreating back. After the anger of earlier, this weary defeat was somehow much worse.

“He’s right, you know.” Cassandra turned to see the Inquisitor giving her a tired smile. “You’re too hard on yourself.” The old dwarf sat down heavily on a nearby boulder, shuffling herself into a more comfortable position. “Believe me, we’re all glad that it’s not you we’re having to scrape off the landscape instead. Varric as much as anyone.”

“Oh,” said Cassandra, shifting uneasily. “You know that I was almost...?”

“Heard you talking earlier,” said Etta. “You’re too hard on Varric too.”

“I have been made aware of that,” said Cassandra. “He reminds me of it almost daily.”

Etta gave her an odd look. “No, I don’t mean that. I mean...that he doesn’t hate you as much as you think he does. Or as much as _he_ thinks he does.”

“With all due respect Inquisitor, that doesn’t really make sense.”

Etta shrugged. “Probably not. These things rarely do. But it’s like his crossbow – why we’re all out here scrabbling through a ton of rock for something that right now is so much scrap parts.” She gave Cassandra another searching look. “It’s not what it _is_ , it’s what it _represents_.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to ask what in the Maker’s name Etta was talking about, but lost her chance at the return of Dorian and Varric, weaving their way towards them across the scree.

The journey back to camp that evening was a long one, the journey back to Skyhold even longer. Varric kept up his usual good humour, his supply of stories and jokes and chatter, but there was a gaping absence in every conversation, an unspoken loss that they all carefully avoided. One of Leliana’s scouts at the forest’s edge camp had provided Varric with a very decent crossbow as a temporary substitute, and when they were attacked by a gang of bandits on the road he proved himself more than proficient with it, under the circumstances. The pieces of Bianca were kept in a pack slung over his back, but Cassandra didn’t see him take them out or look at them on the journey, not even once.

Every night, she dreamt of falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was almost tempted to put 'major character death' as a tag for this chapter :P
> 
> Part 3 will be incoming at some point.


	7. Interview

The first thought that passed through Varric’s head when the woman entered the room was:

“ _Wow, she’s gorgeous_.”

Not perhaps the most appropriate of concerns during a job interview, but hey, he was only a man after all. The woman _was_ gorgeous. He was also a writer, and couldn’t help but be intrigued when faced with such a presence. His mind was already mentally scribbling down the opening paragraphs...

_She strode into the room like a hurricane, wearing a dark tailored suit and an expression of barely concealed annoyance. The clack of her shoes – solid sensible heels – echoed in brisk, perfect monotone across the wooden floor; her hair was cut into a short practical style, her clothing neatly pressed. Here was a woman who exerted absolute control over herself and her surroundings, who suffered no imperfections...save the long scar that sliced across the lower left half of her face, adding a heady suggestion of danger to her sharp aristocratic features. She came to a stop before his chair and dark eyes studied him appraisingly as she said:_

“Mr Tethras? My apologies for being late.”

“No problem, I know how busy you must be,” replied Varric, standing up to shake her hand firmly. “And make it Varric, please.”

The woman nodded curtly. “I am Ms Pentaghast,” she said. “We spoke on the phone. Come this way please.”

Varric followed her through the door into the small office, wondering if her brusqueness was due to whatever had made her late or if it was just her usual manner. She sat down behind the impressive oak wood desk that dominated the room, and shuffled some papers to the side as Varric took the seat opposite her. He felt rather like a disobedient schoolboy who had been summoned here to face a severe dressing down. The feeling was not helped by the small brass sign on the desk that read _Deputy Headmistress Pentaghast_ , or by the fact that, even sitting down, this woman was a good head taller than him. Still Varric had never been a tall guy, and he had _certainly_ never been one to be easily cowed, so he maintained his best charming-but-respectful smile and didn’t break eye contact. It didn’t seem to do much good. Ms Pentaghast gave him another long appraising look before speaking.

“This meeting is really a formality. All the necessary paperwork has been completed for you to start work next Monday. However, Avel—Mrs Vallen believed it would be a good idea for us to at least meet before you officially join the faculty.”

Her tone made it clear exactly what Ms Pentaghast thought of this idea. Varric couldn’t help but feel a little put out. Of course as a fellow teacher he knew how annoying it could be to have to take time out of your busy schedule to attend endless pointless meetings, but this woman was being remarkably unfriendly. He was good at reading people, and she was an open book. She clearly didn’t like him. But why?

“As you know,” continued Ms Pentaghast, “You are on a three month probationary period for the beginning of your time here. I understand that you have considerable experience and excellent references, but this is standard for all new members of staff. At the end of this time there will be an appraisal at which it will be decided whether to continue your employment here at Kirkwall.”

Varric nodded, even though he knew this too was really little more than a formality. He _did_ have excellent references, and he knew that Kirkwall secondary school was desperate anyway. They had been filling the empty spot in their English department with substitute teachers for almost a year, and they were lucky to get someone like him, who had agreed to a significant pay cut from his last job to work here. A favour for a friend. Damn Hawke and her hopeless lost causes.

He continued to nod and smile and agree with whatever Ms Pentaghast was saying as she briskly went through procedures and timetables and the like. She really was very attractive, and when she put on a pair of delicate gold framed glasses to read off a list of some sort, for some reason it only added to the effect. Varric wondered where she had gotten that scar. It seemed a bit incongruous for a teacher, unless the pupils here were _really_ out of control. Ha.

He was aware of a brief pause in her litany, and brought his mind back to reality. Ms Pentaghast was giving him that studied look again, the one that was almost but not quite a glare. When she next spoke he got the impression of someone who was picking their words very carefully.

“Last of all,” she said, “I am aware that you are also...” She hesitated for a fraction of a second. “...an author. Of a sort.”

Oh so _that_ was it. He should have known! Any insult Varric might have felt at ‘of a sort’ was eclipsed by amusement. So _this_ was why his new boss was radiating disapproval from every pore? She disapproved of his books?

“True,” he said. “I think it’s a rare English teacher who doesn’t write books as well as read them. I was lucky enough to get published. Under a pen name of course.”

“Indeed,” said Ms Pentaghast. “I wanted to caution you against mentioning this to the students here. I am aware of the content of your books, and needless to say they are hardly appropriate fare for anyone under a certain age.”

Varric tilted his head to one side thoughtfully. “Have you read them then?” he asked, a smile spreading across his face.

To his surprise and lasting delight, a faint flush of colour stained Ms Pentaghast’s sharp cheekbones.

“I...that is hardly relevant,” she said. Varric felt his smile threatening to turn into a grin. Too honest to lie outright, poor Ms Pentaghast. He wondered if she was more a fan of the sappy romance or the raunchy erotica. Either way she was suddenly a lot less intimidating. Instead of being faced with an unexpected and unexplained adversary as soon as he started his new job, he was now just faced with...

A stunningly beautiful woman with killer legs who read his books and blushed charmingly when he smiled at her.

Holy shit, he’d have to be careful. He always did have a weakness for women who looked like they could kick his ass.

Ms Pentaghast stood up abruptly, clearly feeling that she had lost the initiative in the conversation. “Well that’s everything,” she said hurriedly, her cheeks still slightly pink. “You...thank you for coming.”

Varric stood up too, and put his hand out to shake. Ms Pentaghast took it briefly and to her credit, despite her obvious embarrassment, her handshake was firm and steady. Her hand was surprisingly small in his. No rings, he noticed, on either hand.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he said pleasantly. “I look forward to working with you...do you mind if I ask you your name?”

“Oh.” She looked taken aback, but clearly couldn’t think of any decent reason why not to tell him. “Cassandra,” she said abruptly.

“I look forward to working with you, Cassandra,” said Varric. And in the back of his mind the writer was already at work...

_Gracing him with another curt nod, she turned away to the window, an ostentatious signal that this interview was over. Silhouetted against the afternoon sun, her inky hair was haloed in soft light, her long shadow falling across the room. She stood still and tall, a proud statue surveying her realm through sharp restless eyes. But he had seen the cracks in the stone, heard the falter in her voice, seen the blush colour her skin. There was a person in there, and surprisingly he felt that it was a person he wanted to know._

_Cassandra._

“See you on Monday,” said Varric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehehehe guess who has a terrible weakness for school/teacher AUs


	8. Wager

 

“No way. It’ll never happen.”

“Would you put money on that, boss?”

Etta snorted but didn’t answer, and Bull grinned widely. “Thought not.”

“I’ll take that bet,” said Blackwall unexpectedly. Both Inquisitor and Qunari turned to look at him in surprise. Blackwall had been quietly drinking at the table next to them, but seemed so much lost in his own thoughts that they hadn’t even been sure he was listening to their conversation.

“Not money though,” said Blackwall. “Something more interesting.”

“What did you have in mind?” said Etta.

“How about this; if it hasn’t happened by the time we defeat Corypheus, then I win the wager.” Blackwall gave Bull an uncharacteristically evil look. “And then _you_ have to personally tell Seeker Pentaghast what we were betting on.”

Bull laughed and Etta whistled through her teeth. “High stakes!” she said cheerfully. “You gonna back out now, my lad?”

“I’ll take that bet,” said Bull. “But if I win, then you have to suck it up and tell our Ambassador how you feel about her.”

Blackwall choked slightly on his drink, and Etta gave him a couple of helpful slaps to the back as Sera wandered up to the table with a mug in hand. It was as likely to be fruit juice as anything – Sera wasn’t much of a drinker – but they all had an unspoken agreement not to ask. In all honesty, as Etta had gotten older she had found her own taste for getting falling-down drunk had waned, so the time she spent in the tavern was more about just being able to relax for a time than anything else. Bull and his Chargers were always good company at the end of a long day, but right now the Chargers were off on some mission that she couldn’t recall, so the place was emptier than usual.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Sera, gesturing at Blackwall before pulling up a chair and sitting down on it backwards, leaning her arms on the back.

“He’s just taken a sucker bet,” said Bull. “Well? Want to back out?”

“No,” said Blackwall, having regained his composure. “Because it won’t ever happen. You mark my words.”

Sera looked from one to the other with mild interest. “What are you betting on?”

“Whether or not Varric and Cassandra will be sleeping together by year’s end,” said Etta.

“Urgh!” Sera wrinkled her nose. “Why would you...? That’s like thinking ‘bout your _parents_ doing the nasty.”

“Sera, did you even know your—”

“Not the point Grandma, you know what I mean. Anyway, it’d never happen. They can’t stand each other.”

Bull chuckled. “What, because they’re always bitching at each other? Trust me, I’ve seen this shit before, and it always ends one of two ways. Either they wind up killing each other, or...” He trailed off and waggled his eyebrows meaningfully. Sera made gagging noises.

“You’ve been reading too many of Varric’s books,” said Blackwall. “Even if they wanted to – and I’m not saying they _do_ , mark you – they never would. Cassandra has too much pride and Varric’s too stubborn.”

“You think?” said Etta. “I would have said it was the other way around, actually.”

Blackwall chuckled. “They’ve really got a fair bit in common if you think about it.”

“They’ve both got sticks up their arses,” said Sera. She bit her lip thoughtfully. “Well Varric not so much. Well...it’s a different sort of stick, but it’s still there. Seeker has a nicer arse though.”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” said Etta.

“You’re too old to have an opinion on anyone’s arse,” said Sera.

“Well you’re disqualified from having one on Varric’s anyway,” retorted Etta.

Blackwall sighed. “That’s not really what I meant when I said they have a lot in common,” he said.

Bull leaned back in his chair, causing an alarming creak, and took a swing of his ale. “They’re both kind of the black sheep of the family,” he offered. “They’ve got that in common.”

“Exactly,” said Blackwall. “There aren’t many people brought up to believe that money and status are the most important things in the world who are able to break away from that. It speaks well of both of them that they put others above themselves. That they chose to go out and do some good instead of living comfortable lives.”

“It probably helps that they both lost their parents,” said Bull. “And didn’t both of them lose their only brother as well?”

There was a brief silence.

“That’s a shite thing to have in common,” said Sera.

There was a longer silence, in which they all avoided looking at each other and gulped from their respective drinks. Etta wondered if the others were having the same uneasy attack of conscience, but now her mind was set on a certain subject, she still couldn’t help but voice the next thought that popped into her head:

“They’re both Andrastian,” she said. “But they both believe the Chantry has failed its people.”

Sera snorted. “They’ve got that in common with everyone who has half a brain,” she said.

“They both blame themselves,” said Blackwall quietly, “for things they couldn’t have prevented.”

“Yeah, like I said,” muttered Sera. “Sticks up their arses.”

Etta regarded Blackwall thoughtfully. “You know, shouldn’t you be arguing the other side of this?” she said. “You just made a bet that they _weren’t_ going to get together.”

“And that’s exactly why,” said Blackwall. “Just because they’re similar people doesn’t mean anything. And like I said, they both blame themselves for everything that’s happened, so they try to live with it by also blaming each other. It’s easier that way.” He shrugged. “It may be foolish, but I think they’re happier hating each other.”

“Ha,” said Bull.

“Something funny?” said Blackwall.

“If you really think they hate each other,” said Bull, “then no wonder you took such a sucker bet.” He stood up and stretched, yawning widely. “I’m going to get going,” he said. “Early start tomorrow, right Grandma?”

“Yeah,” said Etta, draining the last of her mug and getting up from her own seat. “Hey Bull, want to tell him what started this conversation in the first place?”

“Nah, it’ll just depress him,” said Bull. “Bad enough that he’s gonna lose without knowing it from day one.”

“What are you two talking about?” asked Blackwall suspiciously. “Something I should know?”

“Something I’m sure you don’t, or you wouldn’t have taken the bet,” said Etta, grinning. She strolled to the door and opened it, framing herself against the night outside and letting in a lot of cold air for the sake of drama.

“Did you know that Cassandra is a huge fan of Varric’s romance novels?” she said. “Because _he_ didn’t. And when I told him, he wrote another one, just for her.”

Chuckling at Blackwall’s expression, Etta closed the door behind her and headed off across the dark courtyard. She wouldn’t admit as much in front of Bull but...well, she couldn’t help but wonder what Josephine would say when Blackwall had to hold up his end of the bargain at year’s end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves shyly*
> 
> Thanks for reading this, and double thanks if you left kudos or commented! I've been pretty busy what with one thing or another, but if you're waiting on an unfinished fic of mine, I promise I am trying to get more done on my ongoing multi-chapter fics. In the meantime, I wrote this little scene just to try and get a feel for some characters and get back into the flow of writing fic again :)


	9. Frostback Basin

“Professor? Professor Kenric? If I could have a word?”

Cassandra paused her knocking for a moment to see if the expected reply was simply a quiet one, but still heard nothing. She exhaled sharply in frustration. It was getting late and she had seen the Inquisitor trying to cover a yawn several times back at the fire. Etta Cadash might be a warrior equal to any she led in the Inquisition, but she was still an old woman and needed her sleep perhaps even more than the rest of them. It would not do to keep her waiting.

Cassandra considered for a moment, then with one final rather loud knock she pushed the door open and strode into the small wooden hut that was Professor Kenric’s lodgings and – for want of a better word – research station in the Frostback Basin. The place was a tip as usual, scattered with books, scrolls and artifacts, and the occasional half eaten sandwich. The Professor himself was—

Oh.

Professor Kenric was not alone, as she had expected. He was with Lead Scout Harding and they were...kissing. Yes. Quite emphatically, in fact.

“Oh! I...” Cassandra put her hand to her mouth to stifle her own exclamation of surprise, but too late. The pair broke apart and whirled around to look at her, their faces in identical expressions of wide eyed shock. In any other circumstances it would have been quite a comical sight.

“Oh, I’m sorry I...didn’t realise...”

Scout Harding, slightly pink in the face, opened her mouth to say something, but Cassandra cut her off.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I...I will leave you to...well...” Cassandra backed hurriedly out of the door, cursing herself for making an awkward situation worse by her babbling. She nearly tripped in her rush down the steps, noting the sound of the door closing behind her and what could well have been a faint embarrassed giggle from Scout Harding; a most unexpected noise coming from someone usually so sensible.

Cassandra cursed her lack of social graces as she hurried through the camp. A simple apology for disturbing them and a swift exit would have been sufficient, but she had been so... _surprised._ What did that say about her, that such a circumstance would be so unexpected? The two of them were welcome to act however they chose after all; they weren’t hurting anyone. But by the Maker, she certainly hadn’t seen it coming. Kenric spoke admiringly of Harding often, it was true, but she had taken it for simple respect. As for Harding herself, Cassandra had seen no evidence of anything but amused forbearance from her towards the professor.

What an odd couple.

Cassandra noticed the first stars were starting to dot the inky blue of the evening sky as she returned to where the Inquisitor sat at the large campfire. The night fell very late in the summer here, and the air was still pleasantly warm, filled with the chirruping sound of night insects and the distant rushing of water. It was a beautiful place. Romantic, even. Or perhaps that was just the effect of what she had just seen.

Etta was deep in conversation with Varric, but looked up expectantly as Cassandra approached.

“Did you talk to the Professor?” she said.

“What?” Cassandra blinked, having temporarily forgotten that it was the Inquisitor who had asked her to find Kenric in the first place. “Ah, no I...he was...busy.”

“Busy with what?” said Etta.

Varric chuckled. “Going by the look on the Seeker’s face, I’d say the better question is ‘busy with _whom?_ ’” he said.

Etta broke into a grin. “Oh was he with Harding? Sorry Seeker, I hope you didn’t see more of our Professor than you wanted to.”

Cassandra felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “No, nothing like that,” she said hastily. “They were just...wait, you both _knew_ about this?”

“Kenric and Harding?” said Etta. “Sure. I mean they haven’t exactly been advertising it, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out.”

“He’s done nothing but go on about how great she is since we got here,” said Varric. “The poor guy is head over heels.”

“I think she rather likes him too,” said Etta, still smiling.

“You think?” said Varric.

“A woman can tell these things,” said Etta vaguely. “Ah, to be young.”

Cassandra sat down heavily, feeling very stupid.

“I’m afraid I didn’t get a chance to ask Professor Kenric about tomorrow,” she said.

“It can wait,” said Etta, yawning widely and stretching out her arms. “I’m too damn tired to hear one of the Professor’s lectures anyway. And who am I to ruin his evening?”

“His boss, technically,” said Varric. “The Inquisition is funding his research.”

“Well then, as his boss I’m officially giving him the night off,” said Etta. “And I’m seriously considering giving our Lead Scout a holiday too, when we’ve got this area secure. It’s about time she had a break.” She stood up and nodded to Varric and Cassandra. “I’m off to bed,” she said. “Don’t you kids stay up too late now.”

She wandered off in the direction of her tent, and Cassandra watched her go with a certain amount of fondness. Their Inquisitor was, she had found, a bit soft hearted when it came to some things.

The lateness of the hour aside, Cassandra decided not to retire yet herself. She had been trained to get by on very little sleep in her time as a Seeker, and it was a difficult habit to break even if she had a mind to. Tomorrow would be spent trekking out into the wilderness, and she knew from experience that she would sleep like a log at the end of it regardless of where they eventually made camp, but today had been one of those irritating days made up mostly of planning and unloading supplies and waiting around. Necessary but frustrating, and not physically demanding enough to wear her out. Instead she rooted around in her pack for the book that Dorian had found her before they’d left for the Frostback Basin – a history of the Seeker order that contained as much information as was commonly known about Ameridan and the last days of the original Inquisition as well. There were more questions than answers, but it would do to be as prepared as she could be, nonetheless.

She had only read a few paragraphs however, when she started to get the odd prickly feeling of someone watching her, and glanced up to see Varric regarding her thoughtfully from across the fire. She raised her eyebrows questioningly at him.

“You don’t have a problem with it?” he said.

“A problem with what?” said Cassandra, glancing briefly down at her book in confusion.

“The Professor and Freckles. Canoodling on duty. You don’t have a problem with it?”

“Oh. Why should I?” said Cassandra, rather taken aback. “It does not appear to be affecting their work, and we can hardly expect people’s lives to stop simply because the world may be in danger. They haven’t done anything wrong; Scout Harding and Professor Kenric are both unattached, as far as I know.”

She regretted that sentence as she saw a brief shadow flicker across Varric’s face and remembered that his own heart lay with someone who _was_ very much attached.

“Either way it is not my concern,” she added hastily.

“Yeah well, as long as you’re not about to report Harding to Nightingale I guess they can both consider themselves lucky,” said Varric.

Cassandra frowned. “I’m sure she already knows. And I don’t see what anyone could object to in such a...friendship.”

“Really?” Varric gave her an odd look. “The fact that he’s a human and she’s a dwarf doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course not. Why should it?”

“It would bother some people.”

“Some people are fools,” said Cassandra firmly. “I fail to see what difference it makes.”

“Huh.”

Varric fell silent and Cassandra felt quite pleased at having apparently surprised him, even if it was because of a rather insulting assumption on his part. Surely she had never given him reason to believe she was so narrow minded? True, things had not always been amicable between the two of them personally – though they had become less hostile of late, to her relief – but that had never been because he was a _dwarf._ It was because he was _Varric._ After all, their Inquisitor was a dwarf as well, and Cassandra had never shown her any disrespect. Unless you counted their initial meeting, of course. Where she had...imprisoned and furiously questioned an old woman. Oh Maker, her dealings with dwarves did paint a rather unfortunate picture, didn’t they?

Well, prejudices had always existed, especially when it came to romantic relationships between races. Perhaps it was for the best that she was given this chance to reassure Varric that she had no such ugly views.

Not that he would care what she thought either way, of course. Unless...

“Have you ever—” She cut herself off too late, the first part of the sentence already hanging in the air before she could recall it. Of course the sudden catch of her speech only served to make Varric raise his eyebrows at her in curiosity.

“Have I ever what?”

“It doesn’t matter. It is none of my business.”

“That’s never stopped you before Seeker,” grinned Varric. “Come on, now you have to ask or it’ll drive me crazy all week.”

Cassandra felt that it was about time she got a chance to drive Varric crazy for once given all the times he’d done it to her, but it probably wasn’t worth the argument.

“I wondered whether you had ever...been with a human. That is all.” Absurdly, she felt a faint blush creeping over her cheeks. Thank the Maker it was dark. “You do not have to tell me, of course. I was just curious; I have not known many surface dwarves.”

“Well luckily for you I’m setting such a great example on behalf of my people,” said Varric, a touch dryly. He shrugged. “For the record – and I’m sure you have one written down somewhere – no I haven’t. Have you?”

“What? Oh...I...” Cassandra hadn’t expected the question to be turned back upon her, but it would hardly be fair to refuse to answer now. “No,” she said, trying to appear as casual about her answer as Varric had. She had told him about Regalyan before, but only under a certain amount of duress, and she supposed there was no way he could know that Galyan was the _only_ man she had ever truly been close to in a romantic sense. She certainly wasn’t going to volunteer that information now.

“Hmm,” said Varric. “Well, it’s not really a common occurrence, I guess.”

“A shame,” said Cassandra, without thinking. Seeing Varric’s expression she quickly clarified. “I mean that relationships of that kind would be so looked down upon as to make them difficult. I had not really considered it, but perhaps there is more than one reason Scout Harding and Professor Kenric are being discreet.”

“Maybe it’s the sort of thing that sort of thing goes on more than we all think,” said Varric with a shrug. He stood up and started to gather his things. “In all the best books love finds a way,” he said vaguely, shoving a bottle and a few rolled up sheaves of parchment into his pack.

“Books.”

“Ah, real life isn’t so different.”

He turned to face her, and even in the dim light she could clearly see the smirk spread across his face. “Exactly _how_ curious are you about this subject, Seeker?”

“Not _that_ curious,” said Cassandra brusquely. “Good night, Varric.”

“Sweet dreams,” he grinned.

Cassandra shoved her book unread back into her pack, and pretended to look for something else at the bottom, trying to hide her awkwardness until Varric left. She heaved a sigh of relief when she glanced up and he was nowhere to be seen. She and Varric may have been on better terms these days, but they were really not such close friends that they should have had _that_ conversation. It was far too personal. Maker’s breath, they had been a fraction away from discussing their... _preferences._ She felt her face heat up again at the mere thought, and hurriedly headed for her own tent, where she could at least squirm with embarrassment in peace. Thank goodness the Frostback camp was large and well provisioned enough that she was not obliged to share a sleeping space with anyone.

Just as she reached her tent and opened the flap to go inside, she heard a soft musical sound and turned to see Professor Kenric a little way off, humming cheerfully under his breath and heading towards the large camp fire where they had been sitting before. Perhaps he intended to speak with the Inquisitor after all; he would be disappointed of course, but Cassandra couldn’t bring herself to call out to him to tell him so, not after the incident earlier. Instead she watched him until he was out of sight. He looked happy.

Cassandra felt a soft tug of something sad, buried deep in her chest. She thought of the Inquisitor walking to her tent alone, widowed many years but able to enjoy the happiness of others. _Ah, to be young._ She thought of Regalyan, the way he’d smiled and promised her a future they both knew they could never have. She thought of Varric, separated by more than just distance from the woman he loved, a soft, remote look in his eyes as he cleaned his crossbow with gentle hands.

_In all the best books love finds a way._

The hollow feeling in her chest deepened, and ached like an old wound as she drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you have unlocked my secret ship: Lace Harding/Bram Kenric
> 
> I really wish there was more fic for them


End file.
